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A fitful sleep, punctuated by stolen glances at the anonymous love letters you scattered around your bed, left you feeling both flattered and unnerved. Each one, in a different, eager handwriting, gushed over how much of a dream you were, how they'd love your touch, how perfect you were... What? With a sigh, you shoved them aside and trudged into the halls past the golden VIP door. But suddenly, you heard a muffled thump, followed by frantic, muffled pleas. Rounding a corner, you saw it-
Seflejo, her face etched with grim determination, wrestled a young student, to the floor. He was impossibly beautiful, even in his terror, his pleas echoing off the sterile walls. "Anon!" she barked, "Help me out here!"
Your body reacted before your mind could catch up. Years of ingrained Imperial obedience propelled you forward, and you put your weight over the boy.
Seflejo worked with practiced swiftness. A high-tech restraint produced from her belt, humming faintly with power, snaked around the boy's limbs and body in a matter of seconds. Her next actions unfolded with efficiency - a flintlock camera captured the scene in a flash; neat, precise handwriting filled a small book as she documented the incident.
"Please!" The boy's voice cracked, his eyes wide with terror. "I just wanted to practice! Practice! For the Emperor!"
Seflejo produced a pistol, the weight of it heavy in her hand, and pointed it at the boy's head. She began chanting a prayer in a low monotone, each word a hammer blow against his hope.
"From the lightning and the tempest, Our Emperor, deliver us..."
A cold knot formed in your stomach. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to intervene, but the ironclad grip of authority and fear kept you rooted to the spot.
"From plague, deceit, temptation and war, Our Emperor, deliver us..."
The boy's voice rose to a desperate shriek. "Seflejo, please! Anon, help me, please! Please! Anon! ANON!"
"From the blasphemy of the Fallen, Our Emperor, deliver us."
The finality in her voice brooked no argument. A single, deafening crack echoed through the hallway. You flinched, the boy's body twitching once before going still.
After a long silence, "...Why, Seflejo?" your voice rasped, barely audible.
Seflejo straightened, her face a mask of grim duty. "Rule 238," she intoned, her voice devoid of emotion. "Student in unauthorized possession of lethal weaponry on Schola grounds. Penalty: Death. It's in the handbook I gave you."
You hadn't even glanced at it, too overwhelmed by the sheer amount of books she had dumped on you.
"I understand..." you started, your voice thick. Then it died in your throat.
"I know it's hard," Seflejo acknowledged, her eyes glinting with a mix of sorrow and resolve. "But imagine a grenade going off in the dorms. Or some kid fucks around with a lasgun catalyzer too much. They're *children*, Anon. We can't have them running around with this stuff."
